


Wrapped Up in You

by Reina1



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Barista Jeong Yunho, Comfort, Emotional, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Homelessness, Implied Sexual Content, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, except reader has a name that’s mentioned like once, no y/n, reader is a medical student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:21:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29701179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reina1/pseuds/Reina1
Summary: It feels like a loop, falling in love with Yunho. You keep getting scared by how much you love him, keep experiencing the butterflies of being with him for the first time even as you enjoy the comfortable warmth of familiarity.(In which you’re in hopelessly in love with Yunho.)
Relationships: Jeong Yunho/Original Female Character(s), Jeong Yunho/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Wrapped Up in You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smol_wonbebe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smol_wonbebe/gifts).



> Dedicated to my ATINY bias, Ash!  
> She writes really cute Monsta X stories on ao3 —> smol_wonbebe 
> 
> Please note this was not supposed to be as angsty as it ended up being. Also, I reallllly didn’t want to use Y/N because does anyone ever actually picture themselves in Y/N stories?

You wake up to an uncomfortable heat on top of one side of you. You can feel the stickiness of sweat from both your body and your boyfriend's, although just barely on the arm that had become numb from the weight of him. 

You don't move though—Yunho needs this sleep, and you need him. 

You let the uncovered hand rest on his bare back. He has such a wide back, and wider shoulders. The expanse of the skin there is relaxed now, as Yunho breathes softly into your neck, but normally is taut with the shifting, painstakingly-built muscle underneath. His shoulders span twice the length of yours, the perfect place to cry into when you can't keep functioning and the perfect place to breathe sighs to while he presses into you so gently on moonlit nights. Sometimes you wonder, though, if Yunho is so broad because he has to be, carrying the weight of old life and now, the weight of yours. You wish you could take some of the burden away but unlocking the safe Yunho stows all his sadness into requires so much precision, just the right combination of feather-light touches and key phrases, and you're still building up the dexterity to be able to do that, even two years later. 

You can't treat the root cause, but treating the symptoms has become second nature to you, has become almost a need to keep the persona Yunho adopts happy until both of you can't pretend to be perfect anymore and break into each other with urgently whispered truths and pained, pleasured moans and the ecstasy of not having problems, if only for that one moment.

You and Yunho build each other up and tear each other apart as necessary. You raise him to climax and then raze him on the way down and he collapses into your arms. It’s been a process that has existed since you met, when you went to get shitty coffee from Starbucks and a bright-eyed, dark-haired Adonis took your order. Yunho had captivated you so completely that you hadn’t even realized it. 

All you had wanted was a black coffee as bitter as your resentment for your finals and as strong as your hatred towards yourself for procrastinating studying. You’d gotten it with a low-voiced, slightly accented “Black coffee for Ash!” And then you left Starbucks, shielding yourself against the cold. God, you hated Starbucks. Nothing was perfect: the drinks were too sweet or too bitter, and you’d rather eat ramen at your apartment instead. 

So you did. You went home, opened three different embryology books spread around your legs and had ramen and black coffee, only comforted subconsciously by the lopsided smile of the barista that had handed you your coffee, the barista who’s lying on top of you right now. 

After a few more visits to Starbucks, the barista had started getting on your nerves. He was nothing like a college student, with all the lethargy of working at 7 AM. He was always smiling, always diligent, always needlessly _hot_. Still, you started striking up conversations with him during early morning coffee runs, desperate for a break from the medical terminology somehow always in a book in front of you. You had noticed his English becoming cleaner over the course of a few weeks, transitioning into a more assertive, deeper voice from its unsure, high previous state. 

Then you dating him. 

He was so good to you, and so good for you, like a breath of vitality within the fatigue you were always in. What you didn’t realize was that he wasn’t good for himself.

You had gone to Starbucks early to surprise him with the superior Dunkin coffee, but didn’t see him, so you had walked around to the back to see if he was opening up there. You saw him exit his car, dressed in a giant T-shirt, covered in a blanket, bedhead evident. You could see an open suitcase through untainted windows, and the toothbrush in Yunho’s hand as he walked into the shop.  
  
 _This_. This broke your heart. 

You finally convinced him to move out of his car into your apartment (too lonely and built of excessive wealth, making you uncomfortable staying there alone). While you didn’t ask for it, he promised to do your chores for you, and he followed through. He cleaned the house while you were doing rotations, made meals so you wouldn’t have to waste your time, and ran errands for the both of you often. But he never got comfortable: you always felt that he didn’t accept your home as his, despite years passing. You know that even now, he’ll wake up and make breakfast for you and sweep the place, even though it was he who took night shifts at a local convenience store for a month straight while you enjoyed your month of break. 

You try to roll him off slowly, moving his large body in increments of pushing at his shoulder and shifting his thigh off of yours. Yunho wakes up, though, and blinks at you owlishly. “How long have you been up?” 

“Not long,” you reply, heart thumping harder with him so close to you and awake. It feels like a loop, falling in love with Yunho. You keep getting scared by how much you love him, keep experiencing the butterflies of being with him for the first time even as you enjoy the comfortable warmth of familiarity.

You card a hand through his hair. It’s rough in places and soft in others, an absolute mess from both a night of sleep and from you grabbing fists of it as he tasted you just hours ago. You’re sure you look worse. 

He presses a close-mouthed kiss your your lips. “Shower, round two, or both?” He asks, moving down to your neck. You can feel his grin slowly growing against your skin and you warm up even more. It’s not so uncomfortable now. 

“Round two,” you breathe as his hands wander over you. At least this way, you can both exist in this middle space on the bed for a little longer, without responsibilities and the pain of parting with him for the day. 

As he slowly takes you apart, you thank him for the strength he gives you to keep yourself together so that you unravel only at his hands, and give into him more completely than you ever have before. 


End file.
